


A Strange Affair

by thescienceofsherlolly



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Awkward Dates, Baby Holmes is not amused, Brain Jokes, F/M, First Dates, Flirting, Jealous Sherlock, Mary Watson isn't here for your shit Stephen, Mary would be proud, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Smitten Molly, Stephen Is A Git, Violent Snogging, hand jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: Molly Hooper falls for visiting neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange, unaware of the effect it has on a certain Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Strange New Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> this is an expanded version of the few drabbles I posted on my sherlolly sideblog over on tumblr. all three are complete (which is a first for me) and will be up in the next few days. I hope you all enjoy it :)

St. Bart’s was all in a tizzy thanks to arrival of gifted neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange from across the pond. In his short time at the Hospital, he has amassed quite the following of desperate women (and several men) eager to assist with his daily routine. He was incredibly handsome despite the heavy scarring to his hands – in fact, this seemed to encourage his following. The popularity Doctor Strange had gained in such a short time hadn’t put a damper on Molly Hooper’s attempts to catch his attention – just like everyone else, she’d fallen under his spell. Even now, she and her friend Mary Watson were lurking in the cafeteria, watching the graceful surgeon point out the items he wanted and admire the ensuing squabble of his rabble as they wrestled to get it.

“He’s nice, don’t you think?”

Mary looked over to the cafeteria line, her eyebrows raised as Stephen struggled to gather up his tray only for his posse to see to it at an incredible speed.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” she shrugged, still surveying Stephen, half-expecting one of the nurses to begin feeding him, “bit of a dick, if you ask me.”

Molly rolled her eyes, nudging her playfully, “well, that can be forgiven when you look like that.”

“Mmm, because that policy’s worked out so well for you in the past.”

Molly rolled her eyes at her friend’s good natured sarcasm; damn her, she had a point. They sipped their coffees in silence for several moments, unapologetically staring as Stephen stretched, the action almost causing several nurses to faint on the spot. He grinned, clearly pleased at their reactions.

“Is it the accent?” Mary wondered, frowning in confusion. Honestly, she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, “or the, you know, hand thing?”

As she’d expected, Molly blushed an interesting shade of red and stared into her coffee cup, “I do like the accent. And the hand…thing. I overheard someone say he was in a car crash. Poor thing.”

“Yeah, tragic,” Mary replied blankly as Stephen looked up from his tray, flashing them a winning smile and a wink. Molly visibly melted beside her whereas the blonde paediatrician wanted to laugh, “yeah, I think he’s fine. Anyway, what happened to your ‘detectives before doctors’ philosophy?”

Molly chuckled, boldly waving over at the American when it became apparent he wasn’t going to stop looking at them, “yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say after five years of sod all, that particular ship has sailed.”

Mary sighed, peering back at the surgeon’s table in time to see Stephen return Molly’s wave shyly, his severely damaged hands twitching with the gesture and flashing her a brilliant smile. She may not like the newcomer but she had to admit he seemed to have a particular effect on her best mate and the happiness of said best mate was priority. Swallowing her contempt, Mary smirked widely and playfully nudged the smitten pathologist.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go say ‘hi’.”

Molly stared at Mary as if she’d grown an extra head. She shook her head repeatedly, spluttering an incomplete answer, “I-I can’t…I mean he’s- and I’m just- I can’t…”

“Oh, go on,” she was getting impatient now, pushing at Molly in an attempt to embolden the self-conscious pathologist. She much more comfortable with the dead – they didn’t tend to judge. Mary wasn’t keen to give up, though, “come on, you said yourself the HMS Holmes has set sail. Time to find a new…” she paused thoughtfully, “harbour.”

“Yeah?” Molly replied nervously, fiddling with her empty cup; flirting across the room was VERY different to actually striking up a conversation with someone. Many of the nurses had dispersed and the remaining lot were glaring daggers at her. Her eyes sought out the beautiful newcomer, still looking, still smiling. The sight seemed to increase her confidence. She replaced her cup and stood up, straightening her lab coat with a decisive pull, “wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, Molls,” Mary winked, also standing with to give her a farewell hug. Molly grinned happily and began striding towards Strange’s table – Mary rolled her eyes as he dismissed his adoring crowd with a wave of his hand before offering Molly one of the spare seats.

As she left the cafeteria, Mary made a mental note to kill him if he ever dared treat Molly the same.

* * *

“Well?”

Mary was barely over the threshold of 221B Baker Street before Sherlock Holmes scurried into a sitting position on the sofa, staring at her hopefully; he was still dressed exactly the same way she’d left him several hours ago, baggy pyjamas, blue dressing gown and three-day-old stubble. She sighed dramatically and shrugged her shoulders.

“I did my best.”

The brilliant consulting detective groaned and threw himself back on the sofa, facing away from her and curling up into a tight ball of rage. Mary struggled to conceal her smile as she perched on the tiny gap of sofa remaining, patting his arm supportively.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

"What does he have…” Sherlock trailed off, unwilling to continue his sentence. He had a horrible feeling that Mrs. Watson knew where his train of thought had been heading.

“He _is_ a neurosurgeon, hun. From another country,” she peered down at the sulking mess she loved messing with, biting hard into her lip to keep from smiling, “…fit, sexy, irresistible charm, nice hands, looks good in blue-”

“Do you like him?” Sherlock asked, still curled tight and refusing to look at her. Mary scoffed immediately.

“God, no. He’s a prick. Vain, smart arse…you get the picture.” As she glanced down at the man-child, Mary could have sworn she saw the slightest smirk cross Sherlock’s lips as he moved to fold his arms tightly across his legs.

“I think they’re going on a date…” the blonde casually mentioned, getting to her feet and heading towards the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards for a clean mug, the clattering of china unable to drown out the heavy sigh Sherlock gave from the sofa. Mary peered at him from the corner of her eye, “made quite the impression on our Molly.”

When all she got in response was an indignant huff, she sighed heavily and approached him, placing the coffee mug beside him on the coffee table, refusing to beat around the bush as she resumed her earlier seat at his side, “do you love her?”

Sherlock whipped his head around, the look on his face a mixture of alarm and offence. For God’s sake, it was a _secret_! For the past five years or so he’d done a good job of keeping it so. How on Earth did Mary Watson know? He pouted, rolling onto his back.

“Of course not. I-”

“Stop it. Do you want her?”

Sherlock reached for his coffee cup, looking up at his no-nonsense sister-in-law-of-sorts. He thought of Molly and her gallivanting with some weird American, showing him around London, sharing dinner, possibly dancing with the tour concluding in her bedroom. Finally, he nodded, much to Mary’s triumphant delight.

“Then, here’s what you’re going to do.”


	2. Jealousy Is A Strange Thing

“So here we are,” Molly smiled shyly, pushing open her door and following after Stephen into her flat. He shrugged out of his coat, his eyes sweeping the room as he stepped inside. The pathologist took his coat, hanging it beside the door, before clearing her throat, “um, can I get you a drink?”

“Scotch, please,” he winked leaving Molly to blush pathetically as she made her way to the kitchen.

Stephen rolled his sleeves and settled on her sofa, taking in his surroundings; it was a cosy little place, a comfortable home for a comfortable woman. Molly was unique, warm and selfless. He stretched out, propping his feet on the coffee table and sighing in relaxation; it took him several moments to realise he was being watched by a large tabby cat. Well, glared at was more accurate. He glanced down at the animal and reached out to pet it.

“Hey, there, little guy…”

The cat hissed loudly and swiped viciously at the unknown man’s hand before running off to hide under her bed. Molly returned with the drinks to find Stephen examining a fresh cut on his wounded hand and gasped.

“Toby!” She cursed the cowering feline and hurried to her date’s side, abandoning the drinks on the coffee table. She took his hand in hers and carefully looked it over, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugged, watching Molly’s concern for him with amused interest, “I was just thinking I could use more scars. In case I lose my handicapped parking spot.”

Molly didn’t know whether or not it was okay to laugh so instead reached for her drink. When she next looked around, her inquisitive guest was examining her shelf of photos; they consisted mostly of her family and friends, several from John and Mary’s wedding day and their baby daughter. One photo in particular seemed to pique Stephen’s interest and he leaned over, clearly not confident enough to attempt to pick it to examine closer.

“A friend of yours?” He asked, nodding at the photo.

Molly stood and peered over his shoulder at the one wedding snap she loved the most. After Tom had cleared off, Molly had taken to drinking the entire bar with Sherlock joining her not long afterwards. By the time Mary reached them with the camera, they were out of it and posed for her in a ridiculous Charlie’s Angels-esque shot, the pair of them pouting like a pair of teenage girls. Molly chuckled, lifting the framed memory and staring at it in adoration.

“Yeah. Um, we were drunk. Our friend’s wedding,” she smiled at the photo for a final time before replacing it with a sigh, “I don’t think he even knows about it to be honest. Knowing Sherlock, he’d probably deny it,” she could tell what the neurosurgeon was thinking just by the look on his face. Molly rolled her eyes, “don’t look at me like that. He’s just a friend. He doesn’t even think of me like that. Never has.”

The American nodded, the two of them resuming their seat on her sofa, “and if he did?”

“You’d never see me again, Stephen,” Molly chuckled, throwing him a cheeky wink as she sipped at her orange juice. A moment later, the glass was plucked from her hand and the sofa dipped further as he shuffled along beside her. Molly swallowed hard when she looked up into beautiful blue eyes.

“I’d better make the most of it, then,” he murmured softly, leaning down to capture her sweet lips.

* * *

“Her name’s Christine Palmer…” Mary was saying, waving her phone as she jogged to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides towards the lab. She continued to follow after the moody detective, reading from her phone, “she’s a fully qualified nurse, kind, pretty. Strange’s nurse, some say. The only one he listens to. And she’s over here, too, actually-”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sherlock sighed, gesturing madly in his annoyance, “what is it that’s bringing them all over here? Can’t they find their own doctors?”

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Mary shrugged, still tapping away on her phone. She disliked Stephen Strange almost as much as Sherlock but for entirely different reasons. She smirked, “you need to show him Christine’s his best bet. Don’t get mad, get even. That’s my motto.”

“Mmm, one that has worked out so well for the lot of us, Mary.”

“I’m trying to help you, you tit,” the blonde grinned to show she still loved the idiot.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed his way into the lab, finding Molly alone and leaning over her work bench; she’d chosen a tighter than usual teal coloured shirt and knee-length pale yellow skirt paired with her favourite bee-patterned trainers. Honestly, the whole ensemble shouldn’t work on anyone but nevertheless Sherlock wanted to sweep her into his arms and never let her go. He soon realised Mary was watching him, a smirk on her face and continued on his way to the microscope.

“Hi, Molly. How did the date go?” Mary asked, loud enough for Sherlock to hear from the back of the room; he discreetly glared at the woman, silently cursing her. She ignored him as Molly giggled nervously.

“Um…fine, yeah. We went to see a film…” she smiled, recalling Stephen’s particular eagerness to see the latest rom-com, although it had been rather off-putting when he kept leaning over to question the British slang. Sherlock watched them for a moment, rolling his eyes as Molly added, “he said he liked my ‘sneakers’.”

The two women laughed manically at the pathologist’s exaggerated American accent at the final word. Sherlock, meanwhile, was beginning to really hate Stephen Strange. He was clearly an idiot, even if he did bring out Molly’s best smile.

“And?” Mary prompted, briefly glancing over at Sherlock, pleased to see he was paying more attention than he let on.

“He thinks my accent’s adorable.”

_Just the accent? Definitely an idiot._ He couldn’t help but smile at the surgeon’s idiocy, he obviously wasn’t good enough for her. _Just a fling, just a fling._ He repeated the mantra; maybe if he said it enough, it would be true.

“Come on, Molly! You’re leaving out all the good bits,” Mary whined, unable to resist taking it one step further.

“We ended up ‘making out’ on the ‘couch’,” Molly grinned happily, reusing her silly American accent once more to the feigned delight of Mary.

Sherlock couldn’t stand another second in their company, unwilling to face the fact his heart was breaking. The neurosurgeon had made such a huge impact on his pathologist in such a short time, the detective couldn’t compete. Could he? Yes, Molly had loved him in the past but, thanks to his own stupidity and attempts to keep her safe, he’d acted like an arse and pushed her away…into strong, damaged arms. Did she still feel anything for him? Or had the dapper American with the dashing smile and cute butt captured her attention forever? What if she moved to the states? How would he cope?

He rose from his stool and strode past the laughing women, straight out of the door without so much as a goodbye. Mary and Molly exchanged concerned glances, wondering what the hell had gotten into their friend.

* * *

Sherlock hammered on the door to the second floor nurse’s office, ruffling his hair quickly into place. Barely a moment later, the door opened to a red-headed, bespectacled student, glaring daggers at the detective - it didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d interrupted her sleep. He smiled innocently.

“I’m looking for Nurse Palmer…”

The student looked him up and down briefly and rolled her eyes, calling over her shoulder, “Chrissy! It’s the freak from downstairs.”

Sherlock involuntarily shuddered at the nickname but managed to regain his composure as the woman Mary had described rushed forwards, brushing her hair quickly into place. The nurse stopped the movement upon seeing him, clearly having expected someone else. Nevertheless, Christine smiled politely.

“Can I help you?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, looking directly at the floor, the words rushing out of his mouth in one long breath, “Christine Palmer? I’m Sherlock Holmes. Do you want to have dinner?”

The nurse blinked in shock, an uncertain smile spreading across her lips; it wasn’t everyday she got propositioned by a total stranger. Well, not anymore. Christine considered him for a moment – he wasn’t unattractive, not with those cheekbones and mess of dark curls…lips completely kissable. At last, she looked at him and began to shake her head.

“Uh, no, thanks. I’m very busy-”

“I’m a friend of Molly Hooper’s. I think we can help each other out.”

Christine’s entire expression changed instantly; she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms, tilting her head as she thought about his offer. Molly sodding Hooper, the charming English girl with whom Stephen was smitten with. Christine had heard all about her cute button nose and soft brown hair and even softer eyes. If the man before her wanted the pathologist, she was going to everything she could to help him. The nurse nodded and stepped aside.

“You’d better come in, then.”


	3. Strange Conclusions

“Ta-dah!”

Sherlock looked Christine up and down, concluding that she had made a worthy effort to look her best for their ‘date’; she had paired a floor length grey maxi [dress](https://cdn.lipsy.co.uk/ImagesB/270/EB12288_021_a.jpg%20) with stunning white heels and pulled her hair into a loose bun. He nodded, pulling the door to his flat closed.

“Good.”

Christine rolled her eyes, following the irritating detective to the black car waiting for them; upon climbing inside beside him, she wasn’t at all surprised to find refreshments waiting and their own personal driver. The nurse wasted no time in pouring herself a glass of champagne and helping herself to a handful of nuts.

“So, what’s the deal?”

Sherlock, who had been staring out of the window and dramatically drumming his fingers, glanced at her and sighed, “when we arrive, we’ll be seated exactly two tables away-“

“No, genius,” Christine smiled, stuffing several nuts into her mouth and speaking through her mouthful, “what’s up with you and this Molly girl? You love her, right?”

His shoulders stiffened, “I do not. I just wish for her to stop seeing that egotistical…brain monkey.”

“Oi,” she pelted a peanut in his direction, “he’s my brain monkey. Stop being a jealous shrew.”

They spent the rest of the journey stewing in silence. Well, in Sherlock’s case, anyway. Christine was having the time of her life, finishing a second glass of the champagne as they reached the restaurant. _Showtime._

“You Brits sure like to pull out all the stops,” the nurse commented as she and Sherlock entered the fancy restaurant, taking in the breath-taking architecture and decorations. The detective sniffed, releasing the arm she’d thrust through his..

“It’s exclusive. My brother’s influence…” he muttered distractedly, scanning the restaurant for his targets. He found them seated at an intimate table; Molly and Stephen were leaning close engaged in deep conversation, the former idly stroking the latter’s hands. Of course her hair was down and her [dress](http://testn.imgix.net/Zoom/18/_9590238.jpg?fit=fill&fm=jpg&dpr=2&h=368&w=240&q=30%20) was a thing of perfection. Sherlock scowled, “typical.”

“What is?”

Sherlock looked to the woman beside him, almost having forgotten she was there. He shook his head, suddenly craving a cigarette. Suddenly, Christine was linking arms with him again and leading him towards the hostess station. The nurse grinned widely.

“Table for two, please. Holmes.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” the hostess replied, eyeing her distracted date warily; he didn’t seem at all interested in what was going on. Nevertheless, he obediently allowed himself to be dragged away, keeping a firm eye on his desired table; they were laughing now.

“Should I ask how you knew they’re here?” Christine asked, pulling her own chair from under the table before sitting down; Sherlock was already seated and watching Molly’s table like a hawk from behind a menu.

“Best not to,” he murmured, clenching his fists bitterly as Stephen reached over and brushed a strand of Molly’s hair from her eyes with slightly shaking fingers. The blush on her face made his blood boil.

“Right,” Sherlock snarled, slamming the menu on the table before rummaging in his coat pocket and slipping from his chair on his knees. Bollocks to waiting for the order! The sooner he put a stop to this the better. Christine looked far from amused as he removed a black velvet box and popped the lid, revealing a gorgeous engagement ring. He smiled falsely, “are they looking?”

Oh, she wasn’t having any of it. Her arms folded and her tone was ice cold, “where did you get that?”

“It’s…spare. Are they looking?”

“No. They’re on a date! They’ve no idea we’re here…” he looked around and smiled awkwardly at the several patrons whose attention he had managed to attract. Christine gently kicked him, “get up, you idiot. You’re embarrassing yourself,” she smiled sympathetically, seizing her glass of water. She gulped down the lot as Sherlock shuffled back to his seat, muttering expletives under his breath. Honestly, she thought Stephen was bad enough! After a moment, Christine took pity on him and leaned forwards, “you’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Oddly enough, no!” Sherlock snapped as he leapt to his feet, crossing the room in long strides before Christine could offer up any sort of argument. She looked up at the waiter that had stopped at their table, waiting with pen and pad in hand.

“I’ll have the lemon roasted chicken and a bottle of your most expensive wine, please…it’s on him,” she inclined her head to the empty seat opposite her; the waiter scribbled down the order, glancing at the vacant seat. Christine waved a hand, smirking, “oh, don’t worry about him. He’s having the Hooper special.”

* * *

“What do you call a skull without one billion neurons?” Stephen said in such a serious tone, Molly was unsure whether or not he actually expected her to answer. Was he attempting to relate to her line of work? She shrugged and he smirked, “a no-brainer.”

Molly couldn’t help but grin and shake her head, unable to believe the man in front of her; of course he’d make jokes about his work. She sipped at her wine, “I’m surprised your patients need anaesthesia with jokes like that.”

“It is a wonder,” the cocky American replied, reaching over to cover her hand with his. Molly swallowed, using her free hand to tenderly caress his scars. She was unable to keep the disappointment from her voice when she looked up at him.

“Do you really have to go back?”

“They’re falling apart without me, apparently,” Stephen smirked, leaning across the table to tuck her hair behind her ear. He was going to miss that blush, “I’m surprised they managed this long.”

“Mmm,” Molly nodded in agreement, smiling sadly – she couldn’t believe what they had was over. She had grown quite fond of the charming neurosurgeon. She lifted his special hands to her lips, kissing them fondly, “yeah, I suppose you’ve got to hand it to them…” the pathologist stopped her sentence, replacing said hands on the table. Molly bit her lip, her blush increasing as she stuttered at the amused doctor, “oh, God, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Molly, it’s fine,” Stephen chuckled, reaching her hand. Before he could say anything else, the glass of red he had sitting on his table toppled into his lap and he leapt to his feet, cursing as he patted himself down with napkins.

“Sherlock!” Molly nearly shrieked, outraged the detective was spoiling yet another of dates; she shoved her fuming friend aside in order to assist Stephen. She glared at the detective, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Soorry,” Christine appeared at Sherlock’s side, attempting to tug him away from a possible fist fight, one she was certain the scrawny detective would lose. She gestured at him, addressing the tiny brunette directly, “don’t mind him. He’s just a bit ‘jealous’.”

The nurse mouthed the final word, still attempting to pull Sherlock away; he still seemed quite content to share an angry staring contest with the man attempting to steal his pathologist away. Said pathologist looked rather shocked, abandoning Stephen as she glanced between the pretty American woman and her detective.

“Y-you know each other?”

Christine scoffed, “believe me, it wasn’t my choice. He practically sought me out.”

Stephen seemed to remember where he was and looked directly at Christine, as if trying to decide if she was really there or not. The nurse smiled nervously at her wide-eyed neurosurgeon.

“Chris? What-“

“Hey, Stephen. Fancy seeing you here.”

“ _You know each other?_ ” Molly repeated incredulously, indicating between Stephen and Christine. She didn’t know what to make of all of this. Had this ‘Christine’ been sleeping with every single one of her boyfriends or men she fancied?

Sherlock was still peculiarly silent, glaring daggers at Stephen; he’d stepped closer to Molly and was now acting as some sort of human shield between her and the others.

“She’s my nurse,” Stephen hurriedly waved a dismissive hand, running a clumsy hand through his hair. This was turning out to be a weird night. Finally, he looked up at Christine, “you told me you had a medical thing?”

“Yeah, you!” Christine responded through gritted teeth. She stepped closer, her arms folded, “do you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again After what happened-“

“Oh for God’s sake,” Sherlock nearly shouted, making several of their enraptured audience jump in their seats. He took Molly’s wrist and proceeded to pull her away, insisting they needed to talk to in private.

They got as far as the bar before Molly wrenched her arm free and jabbed him fiercely in the chest, accusing the poor git of everything under the sun…except the one thing that truly ailed him. Stephen resumed his seat, watching the argument with great interest; true, this had been the first time they’d properly met but he could tell the man had the hots for Molly and her iddy biddy nose. He chuckled, tucking into his soup.

“What is so funny?” Christine asked suspiciously, absently taking Molly’s seat opposite her doctor. He shrugged, a cocky shrug if she ever saw one.

“Not a bad night’s work, eh?”

“We had nothing to do with this,” Christine scoffed, wishing she could slap the irritatingly satisfied smirk from his gorgeous face.

“Of course we did. Without us, those two idiots would still be pining over their microscopes,” he raised his glass; only the closest of observers would have been able to tell it hovered slightly in front of his outstretched hand. Another wink later and Christine smiled, raising Molly’s abandoned glass.

Stephen looked up over at the soon-to-be new couple, his smirk growing; he gestured at the plate in front of Christine, “help yourself. We’re not going to be here much longer.”

“What about your date? Isn’t she hungry?” Christine pouted, wondering what on Earth Stephen Strange was still grinning about.

“Yeah but not for food.”

Christine turned around to see Sherlock and Molly aggressively snogging, the former lifting his woman onto the bar and sending glasses cascading-

“YUCK!” Hamish Holmes recoiled from the laptop, poking his tongue out at the laughing American on the screen in front of him.

“Well, you wanted to know.”

“Is any of that true, Uncle Stephen?” Hamish asked sceptically, propping his elbows on the desk. The surgeon nodded, waving his hand slightly.

“Mostly. The bar thing…maybe I exaggerated. I thought they were gonna, though.”

Hamish grimaced, screwing his face up in disgust; it was bad enough _witnessing_ Mummy and Daddy’s disgusting displays of affection, now he had to hear about it too? The curly-haired youngster, the spit of Sherlock, batted his eyelashes.

“Can I see the magic trick?”

The boy’s eyes lit up as Stephen rolled his eyes but pushed his sleeves up, waving his hands dramatically and expertly; various different colours flashed across the screen and items flew past before crashing into something off screen and shattering. Hamish giggled in delight and clapped his hands.

“What have you been telling him?” Sherlock suddenly asked from above his son’s head; the boy tipped his neck back to see his dad looking down at him with an arched eyebrow.

Stephen grinned, throwing Sherlock yet another of his famous winks, “just how we met, Sherly…”

“Hamish, it’s past your bedtime,” Sherlock insisted quickly, slamming the laptop closed without so much as a goodbye; seriously, he had one of the most demanding jobs. Why did he have to spend his free time impressing his son with genuine magic? How was supposed to compete? The young boy pouted.

“But I wanna talk to Uncle Stephen.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his lips quirking upwards, “I’ll take you to your first crime scene.”

“YAY!” Hamish immediately jumped down from the chair and scurried to his bedroom, turning on his heel and racing back to his father for a tight hug, “thank you, Daddy. You’re the best!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile and ruffle the boy’s hair. He was soon off again and the consulting detective looked down at the silent laptop. He stuck his tongue out and proudly followed after his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to all of my American readers for the offence I may have caused. You're welcome to message me with abuse towards England. I hope you all enjoyed reading this x


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